Song of the Garden Cart

I sit here in desultory silence,

Known by birds and seasons differing,

The frost and sun will do their violence,

My covers shredded by the spring.

Each summer fed with gardening and grass,

Each winter loaded with sharp kindling,

The days of wind and leaf-fall come and pass,

I wait without a notion of their all-bringing.

Today I face the north, yesterday the west,

The dying sun set fire the ground beneath me,

From just beyond the shed you'll see me best,

Still silent, under a soaring macadamia tree.